Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
“Rune. Rune! Wake up.”
Two very strong, very insistent hands dig into my shoulders, gripping hard enough to let me know they mean business. I don’t like them at all. They remind me of another set of hands, belonging to a man I’ve tried very hard to forget. Of the night I set his world on fire, then stood and watched it burn.
I smell fire now, just as I did that night. It curls into my nose and sears my lungs, making me cough. Am I back there, with him , somehow? Has he finally sought his revenge?
I swore I would never let him touch me again, or Julia, either. That I would protect her with my life. I paid for what I did, but it was worth it. To my dying day, I won’t change my mind.
In the darkness behind my closed eyelids, I twist, trying to get away from the hands that have me in their grip, but no dice. Fear trembles through me, and his voice echoes, bubbling up from the deep well where I spent years stuffing it away: I will find you, girl. You think you’ve won, but you’re fooling yourself. I will get to you, and we’ll see what goes up in flames then.
“No,” I whimper. “Let me go, get off me, no!” Cold sweat trickles down my spine, and my heart takes up an alarming rhythm. My chest heaves, struggling for air.
The last thing he said to me that night surfaces, an intimate whisper, like he’s right next to me. You may have nothing now, girl, but it won’t always be that way. No one will ever love a freak like you. But you will love someone. And when you do, you’ll see my face. It’ll be the last thing you ever see before I take what you love most away for good.
“Valentine,” I whimper. She’s small, defenseless. She never hurt anyone. And I won’t—I won’t let him?—
Another voice penetrates the darkness. Gone is the icy reserve I associate with it. Instead, it’s tight with anger. “She doesn’t like you touching her. Back off, man.”
“You back off, Frost,” says the first voice. “Let me do my job.”
“Your job is harassing innocent women who use the words get off me ?” the owner of the second voice snarls. “Is your body cam on right now, Cooper? Because I happen to have a very good lawyer, and I’m sure she’d have a field day with whatever the hell is going on here.”
“You’re not the only one who has a good lawyer.” It comes out as a growl.
Maybe their argument should unnerve me. But it has the opposite effect: The more they bicker, the more the here-and-now world settles into place, and the more that awful memory retreats. The cold sweat crawling down my spine evaporates, as does the weight on my chest. I blink, and the darkness falls away to reveal two sets of blue eyes fixed on me: one crystalline as a Norwegian fjord, the other dark as a smudge of rich cobalt on canvas.
Oh, right. The wreck. Did I…pass out?
I must’ve, because his voice is gone. I still smell fire, but now I can see the source: the oak tree across the street, sizzling from the lightning strike. There are hands on my shoulders, all right, but they don’t belong to him.
I’m not in front of a ramshackle house, holding a match in my hand and facing down a monster. Instead, I’m sitting in a car in the middle of Orchard Street, soaked to the bone. Two very pissed-off-looking men—Donovan Frost and Hot Cop Summer, now in uniform—stare down at me. It’s discomfiting, like being the subject of an experiment I didn’t agree to participate in, and I avert my eyes, looking somewhere, anywhere, but at them.
The rain has, mercifully, slowed to a trickle. From my perch in the passenger seat, I can make out the crumpled front end of Donovan’s Prius. The Camaro isn’t looking so great, either, though Officer Asshat has moved it to the side of the road.
His hands still grip my shoulders, and Donovan gives them a pointed glare.
“She’s awake,” he snaps. “So now you can let go.”
Holy bananas. Donovan Frost, of all people, is defending me.
Maybe he’s not a total bastard, after all.
Hot Cop Summer relinquishes my shoulders. But he’s still glaring, like it’s somehow my fault he lost control of his souped-up muscle car and slammed into us.
I want to call him on his attitude, but I force myself to be polite. The last thing I need is to get dragged down to the station twice in one day. “Nice to see you again, Officer,” I say, blinking up at him. “At least you’re not on top of me this time.”
Oooookay, that came out wrong.
Two sets of blue eyes narrow dangerously. “You two know each other?” Donovan says, just as Cooper bites out, “You threw yourself at me!”
Okay, so that didn’t come out so well, either.
I rub my forehead, trying to figure out a way to explain that doesn’t paint me in the worst light imaginable to my new co-worker. But because God hates me, before I can say a word, D’Andre pedals up to us on the bright-blue bike he rides everywhere, sans helmet. “Everyone all right?” he says, sounding gleeful at the chance to be first on the scene.
“We’re fine,” Cooper says, clenching his jaw. “Looks worse than it is. Just a fender bender. Keep going, before you cause another one.”
“You and Rune aren’t having the best day.” D’Andre’s hand dips into his pocket, doubtless going for his phone in an effort to surreptitiously record the whole thing.
“Yes, I know,” Cooper says, at the same time Donovan mutters, “No shit.”
Cooper rolls his eyes skyward. “Get your hand out of your pocket and go home, please, D’Andre. Or wherever you were going to begin with.”
“To get a green smoothie,” D’Andre supplies, pedaling closer and peering between the three of us, as if for clues. “I always get one after yoga. I could bring you one, if you?—”
Cooper takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. He looks like he’s counting to ten. “I. Do. Not. Need. A Smoothie.”
“Too bad,” D’Andre says, shrugging. “The choco-strawberry-boonana might sweeten you up a bit.” And off he pedals, down the rain-spattered street, giving me and Donovan a cheerful wave over his shoulder as he goes.
“Put on a damn helmet!” Cooper yells at his back. Predictably, D’Andre ignores him.
Great. Recording or no, this little incident is going to be all over the Sapphire Springs gossip network by nightfall. I’d bet my next premonition on it.
Officer Cooper runs a beleaguered hand through his hair and mutters something like choco - strawberry-boonana my ass. Then he fixes his gaze on me again. “Are you all right?”
At the thought of having to run interference about all of the absurd events that have befallen me today, my tact evaporates, along with my patience. “No. No, I’m not! My butt hurts, if you must know. So do my knees. And my face. Also, if we’re being blunt here, I could have done without running into you again.”
“Strictly speaking, I ran into you this time . For which I apologize.” He clears his throat. “And what’s wrong with your, um, butt?”
“She fell in a puddle,” Donovan says gruffly. “I need your insurance information, Cooper. And to get my car out of the goddamned road. Are we done here?”
“Ms. Whitlock was unconscious,” Officer Obvious points out. “Do you want me to radio EMS?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head vigorously, which turns out to be a mistake. God, I need some Advil. “No ambulance. I just…I want…”
What the hell do I want, other than to forget this day ever happened? My eyes flit across the street, falling on the lit coffee cup logo of the Peach Tree Grille. “A milkshake,” I say triumphantly. Maybe D’Andre had the right idea.
“A milkshake? Are you delirious?” Cooper’s staring at me again. Between him and the glowering yet gorgeous Donovan, I’m half-tempted to make a crack about how my milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard. Somehow, I restrain myself.
“Yes,” I say with what dignity I can manage.
“We were about to have one, before you lost control of your vehicle and careened across two lanes of traffic.” Donovan sounds every bit as icy as he did back in Ethan’s office. He really doesn’t like Officer Cooper, which…not that I do, either, but what the hell is his problem with the guy?
“I didn’t lose control . There was a—oh, forget it, Frost. You”—Cooper points an accusatory finger at me—“sit tight. Let me know if you feel dizzy and if you change your mind about the ambulance. And you”—he points the finger at Donovan—“move your car while I get my registration.” Turning his back on both of us, he stalks off toward the Camaro, leaving me and Donovan alone together.
But Donovan doesn’t round the car to the driver’s side. Instead, he peers down at me, and when he speaks again, his voice is unexpectedly soft. “Are you really all right?”
His solicitousness gets under my skin. Where does he get off, pretending to care about me after the way he behaved at Smashbox? “Other than my butt, my knees, and my face, I’m fine,” I say, trying to match his haughty tone.
His lips twitch, the way I remember them doing before the crash. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to say anything in front of Cooper. You two obviously have a history.”
At this, I crack a smile. It hurts my cheek. “Oh, we do. It dates back to this morning.”
“But you called him ‘valentine.’” Donovan looks so confused.
I can’t help myself; I start to laugh. I double over, ignoring my bruised everything, and giggle until tears run down my cheeks. And then I’m full-on sobbing without warning, so hard I can’t catch my breath.
“Rune? What’s wrong?” Donovan’s voice is cautious, like he’s trying to figure out how to disarm a bomb and doesn’t want to trigger it by mistake. But it’s too late: this particular bomb has already exploded.
His face blurs through my tears as I wrap my arms around myself, wracked with shivers. “What if my laptop’s broken? I can’t afford a new one. Plus I’m w-wet,” I wail, unable to contain myself, “and I’m hungry, and I hurt, and my sh-shoes…”
Donovan’s brows lower, and he backs up, looking horrified. I hear him rummaging in his trunk—maybe for an emergency flare to rescue him from the dire meltdown in his front seat. But a moment later, he reappears, inexplicably clutching a handful of fabric. “Here,” he mumbles, thrusting it at me.
Sniffling, I unfold it, and my eyes go wide.
Donovan Frost, Ice Man Incarnate, has handed me a hoodie with a caricature of my cat printed on the front.